


Da Capo For Love

by starkind



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dance, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dancing, Eventual Relationships, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2018-12-12 11:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11736183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: Juilliard. One of the world's best institutions for Performing Arts. Not everyone gets accepted here. Those that do are bound to have a bright future ahead, provided they make it through the hardship of competition,  sweat, and tears.Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark are just two of those chosen ones.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present an IronBat Dance/Ballet-AU. No, I am no professional dancer. Yes, I wish I could be as graceful and flexible as one. There might/will be inaccuracies regarding professional dancer lingo, so if there is anything severely wrong, please let me know. 
> 
> And now I leave the fictional stage to the dancers :)

On a gray afternoon late-February, Bruce Wayne, age seventeen, sat in a long mahogany corridor and stared at the linoleum between his feet. The opportunity to take part in a live audition to get into the Juilliard Dance School in New York had ruled the past seven years of his young life. Five audition components were about to take place on the same day, and he had participated in four rounds without getting cut.

The acceptance rate at Juilliard was around less than eight percent, and Wayne Jr all the more determined to make it under the best 22 students. Audition classes so far included a lot of barre work, and Bruce was still waiting for the moment he could finally display his true strength, which was center work. Someone then dropped into the vacant chair next to him and shook him out of his obsessive train of thoughts. 

Bruce raised his head to peek out from underneath long, straight bangs. A curly-haired boy with an olive tan and large brown eyes grinned back at him, mouth full of white teeth. Opposed to Bruce, who wore a fitted, white t-shirt, black tights, white socks, the boy was dressed in loose black slacks, a black wifebeater and some funny looking high top sneakers. On closer inspection, they turned out be slippers.

A pair of headphones dangled from his shirt, and he had a slim looking phone in one hand that was blaring loud music until he pressed a button. “Hiya. You doing modern dance, too?” Bruce shook his head. “Ballet.” The boy's eyebrows rose.

“Awesome. My dad doesn't want me to do ballet. Said it's effeminate. Whatever. I think it's strong and beautiful. I attended the Perry House School in Chelsea six years ago and studied classical ballet before he shipped me back to the States. He'll blow a fuse if I get this right today.” Bruce had no reply to that. A voice, female and stern, hollered over the long corridor and interrupted their awkward conversation. “Stark, Anthony Edward.”  
  
With a grimace, said boy got up from his chair.  
“Break a leg, dude.”  
He gave a jaunty wink before he left.

~

Lean muscles rippled underneath taut skin as Bruce went through a series of turns, lifts, and a flawless tour en l'air, showcasing the grace of long limbs. He was tall for his age and had worked hard on using his body like a weapon; training for it to become the perfect mesh of strength and beauty. After a few intense minutes, everything was already over, and the echo of his heavy breathing filled the air.

“He has got the physique, but long limbs isn't everything.”

“There is a lot of potential.”

“He is too dark, too – devastating. He'll never get out of his niche if he keeps this up.”

Bruce stood, chest heaving from exertion from his final set of grand allegro, and listened to the jury of three discussing his fate with furrowed brows. The only male judge in the room then slipped his glasses down to the tip of his nose and regarded him over the rims. “I read you were offered an opening at the Royal Ballet School of Britain when you were ten.” Cheeks still flushed, Bruce nodded, chin dipped onto his chest.

“Why didn't you take it?”  
The boy could feel all three pairs of eyes burning into him. He did not look up and only clenched a fist.  
“My parents died that year.”

Silence, even though the faces of the jury never wavered.  
The man called Jim Gordon then cleared his throat.  
“Well. You will get the chance to prove yourself around here.”

Once he was out of the room with its many mirrors, a huge weight seemed to fall off of his shoulders. Jacket in one hand, Bruce began to break into a run, down the long corridor until he almost bumped into the same curly head of dark locks he had encountered earlier. The other boy had just left the restrooms, paper towel in hand, and haltered his steps when he recognized him.

“Hey! How'd it go? Did you make it?”  
He had a bit of an accent Bruce could not really pinpoint.  
“Yeah. You?”

The boy -Anthony, Bruce remembered- broke into another, sincere grin and slapped his shoulder. “Yup. I'd say that calls for a celebratory dinner! If you like. You see, I don't have to be back at home until 9, so... whaddaya say?” Bruce knew the family's elder butler, Alfred, was waiting in a nearby hotel to pick him up. He gnawed on his bottom lip for a brief moment. “I... uh... just have to make a call.”

~

Fifteen minutes later, they walked out to a place Anthony, who insisted on being called Tony, had recommended. At a red light, the latter then looked at his taller, silent companion. “You haven't told me your name yet.” “Bruce. Bruce Wayne.” The shorter boy nodded and pointed at his chest. “Tony Stark. Like in the son of Howard Stark, yeah, but I don't follow in his footsteps, apparently.” Bruce cast him a look.

“Weapons' manufacturing and dancing aren't really the same.”  
Tony's wide grin exposed an equally wide tooth gap.  
“True that.”

The traffic light switched to green and they resumed their walk.

When they stood at the counter of the Burger Joint at the Le Parker Meridien, Bruce watched Tony produce a couple of crumpled dollar bills from his pocket. “I'm so famished I could eat the whole menu.” Tony chuckled. “Shame though that everything always goes here.” He smacked his butt with a resounding clap. “Damn Italian genetics.” Bruce’s eyes could not help but follow the movement. “No, it... you're fine.”

He cleared his throat and dug out his own wallet, but Tony waved him off. “They say I'm a bit too chubby, but what do they know. I'll be dropping pounds once the semester starts.” Equipped with a big tablet they scooted into a free booth in the corner. Bruce looked at the wooden slates on the walls, the faded movie and sports posters, and the bulletin board with dozens of notes attached to it.

Tony meanwhile had unwrapped one of his burgers and dug in with ravenous appetite. “Heaven tastes like this.” His mouth-full statement made Bruce grin and also start eating. Over fries scooped into one, big pile Bruce came to learn that Tony Stark was two years older than him, also a single child, and a handful. And he was completely proud of the last fact.

“I escaped three - no, wait, four – boarding schools and an overseas college. Right now, I'm supposed to be studying at MIT to take over dad's conglomerate, but here I am, living the life.” Bruce listened on with something between awe and utter amusement until a black Sedan pulled up in front of the diner. Tony licked his salt-covered thumb and watched his new companion get up to walk outside.

“So then I guess I'll see you in a month.”  
The hint of a smile tugged at Bruce's thin lips.  
“Yeah.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's audition might have looked a little like this:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O0OB3KMjP7k&feature=youtu.be&t=316
> 
> (fun fact: The very Christian Bale was indeed offered a spot at the renowned ballet school in England back in the days. Ballet!Batman could have been a thing! Also, RDJ is an equally uber-gifted mofo who did in fact study ballet the way Tony did in this chapter. Hooray for research:))


	2. Chapter 2

Both Tony and Bruce got their individual acceptance calls in March. Together with 20 other young dancers, they moved into Meredith Willson Residence Hall where they were required to spend the first year, living on campus. As soon as they met on the first day of orientation week, Tony was ecstatic. “Are we roomies?” Bruce looked at the papers in his hand. “I'm in suite 3, room E.”

Tony compared notes, only to slap Bruce's innocent upper arm seconds later. “Ha! I'm suite 3 as well, but room D. I'll see if I can switch it up.” Before Wayne could object, the other boy hurried off to inquire about the other inhabitant. As it turned out, the other inhabitant was a boy named Clark Kent, who had no qualms about getting Tony's single room in favor of Stark and Wayne rooming together.

Their schedule held courses like dance techniques, performance and repertory, partnering and composition. Most teachers and instructors were tough but offered good insight on the life of a professional dancer. Their universal motto was 'Dancing can be toiling, but it can also give you so much you've never thought possible' and the new students repeated it in mock-voices whenever the instructors were not around.

“You work in pairs for your first assignment. When I call out your names, step forward and get acquainted with your new partner.”  
Tony's eyes flew between back and forth between their instructor and the serious-looking boy at the far end of the assembled group.  
“Anthony Stark and Bruce Wayne.”  
  
The first gave an emphatic fist pump while the latter simply nodded along, delight well hidden.  
  
“The theme for this semester is spiritual kinship; be that brother- or sisterhood.”

~

Advanced class had them dance up to five hours a day, with little to no time socializing or getting a lot of extra work done for other studies.

Bruce did not attempt to make friends around campus like Tony, even if their eight-bedroom suite was packed with a bunch of companionable guys and girls. There was an Afro-American called James Rhodes, who bore a natural gift of rhythm, and whom Tony took a liking to almost as instantly as with Bruce. He deemed him Rhodey from the very first day, and the other boy took on his new nickname with a laugh and a nod.

The eldest guys around were called Steve Rogers and Clark Kent. They had a lot in common, both physically and mentally.

Broad-shouldered and hardworking, the only distinguishing factor was their hair color – Steve was a sandy blonde while Clark had jet black hair. While Kent was equally gifted in classical ballet like Bruce, Steve's forte was jazz dance. They were assigned partners for the current semester, and so far, their amicable competition was spurring them on more than it hampered their blossoming friendship.

Three girls by the names of Carol Danvers, Diana Prince, and Virginia Potts completed the pack, and kept the male community under control. While Virginia was a tall and willowy redhead ballerina, Carol was a blonde with immense stamina and versatile no matter the dance genre. She and Rhodes were working on a program for the semester that clearly displayed how much of a wonderful contrast they were.

Diana was a fierce brunette with impressive athletic strength who loved to express herself through modern dance. Compared to her, Virginia, who was assigned to dance with her, looked like Olive Oil, even if no one dared to voice the comparison aloud.

Bass-laden music reverberated through the large studio that smelled of radiator warmth, deodorant, and bubble gum. Bruce sat in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest, and watched Tony and Rhodey do an in-sync sequence to 'Smooth Criminal'. Sweaty and puffing, Tony called over to him. “Never seen anyone with better freestyle footwork. You, Bruce?” Wayne shook his head and forced a neutral expression on his face.

He seemed unsure whether Tony referred to Rhodes, or Michael Jackson. With a friendly smile, James waved at him. “Join us, man. Best way to warm up.” Bruce shook his head and inspected his left shoe. “Nah, thanks.” He looked up again as Virginia, whom everyone called Pepper, came to stand by his side, refastening her ponytail into a tight bun. “These two - always clowning around.”

She spoke loud enough for James and Tony to hear and boo at her. Pepper only grinned and looked back down to where Bruce sat. “Wanna practice with me? Diana's late and I need to warm up.” He hopped to his feet with ease and brushed off his pants. “Sure.” She ran a thankful hand over his shoulder and gave the goofing Stark heir in the corner another authoritative look.  
  
“Tony – turn that down a little will you?” Grinning at her while singing a modified chorus line of Smooth Criminal, turning it into 'Pepper are you okay?', the Stark heir shuffled over to the speaker system doing the moonwalk and did as he was asked. He then watched Bruce and Pepper head for the far corner to stretch against the wall. “What'cha wanna hear, Pep? Don't ask Bruce, he'll just go and say Tchaikovsky or something.”  
  
Said Gothamite responded with a rather offensive gesture, to which Tony chuckled even louder. “Put 'She's like the wind' on.” At Pepper's wish, Tony's eyebrows shot up and he whistled. “Hot, hot, Pepper Pot. Do not steal my man there.” The way he said it was humorous, but Bruce still felt the tip of his ears starting to burn. Quick to get into position at the barre, he waited until the music started and Pepper closed up to him.

“You want to do a standard warm up?” She looked up over her shoulder at him. “Adagio would be great.” He nodded. Together they went into the motions of Plies, Tendu, Degage, Ron de jambe, a barre stretch, Fondue and Developpe, Frappe and Grand Battements. Their graceful performance soon got Tony and Rhodey watching them, until Diana slammed the door open, apple in one hand and apology on the lips.

She and Pepper were quick to take over from where Bruce excused himself for the restrooms, though not before signaling Tony they should really start practicing. Steve Rogers and Clark Kent almost ran into him as they entered the gym, both dressed in fitted sweatpants and shirts that did not hide their broad physiques. Tony took the opportunity to turn up his music again and resumed his dance off with James.

“Steve-O, Clarkie – what'cha say? Who's got the better moves? Rhodey or me?”

Clark shared a look with his dancing partner and crossed his arms. “What if we say James?” Tony made a dramatic gesture. “I'll be devastated.” Steve laughed upon Clark's mild-mannered jibe and smiled at the young Stark heir. “You both have your strengths.” The atmosphere changed to something more professional after that, and all pairs went to find a place secluded enough to get to work on their respective projects.

Once Bruce returned, he and Tony remained behind, tossing ideas back and forth until Stark dared to suggest something.

“Hip hop vs. ballet.”

“I don't dance hip hop.”

“Well, I don't dance classical ballet, so there we have it. This assignment is exactly for that reason.”

“For the reason of making fools out of ourselves? What does the theme have to do with that?”

“It goes to show that even though brothers can be different, they share the same spirit in the end.”

When Bruce said nothing and continued to stare at a spot in the distance with narrowed eyes, Tony put a hand on his shoulder. “Contemporary.” Wayne scrunched up his face. “Contemporary ballet.” Rolling his eyes, Tony then tried another strategy. “I'll show you some of my moves so you can get an idea.” So far, they had not really seen the other one dance, except for warm up rehearsals and the occasional brief sequence in class.

Tony got up, brushed his palms against his sweatpants, and went to fetch his phone. Bruce leaned against the barre and crossed his arms.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: I think this short vid gives a nice little glimpse into the world of upcoming professional dancers:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pB4qqz_weaY


	3. Chapter 3

Soon, the first tunes of a piano wafted through the air. Tony began to move, and Bruce was captivated right from the start. To see him dance proved he was the embodiment of emotions. Tony loved to perform, but in return, he lacked control and focus the deeper he went, resulting in minor technical slip ups and errors. Once the music faded out and Tony hunkered on the floor, panting, Bruce uncrossed his arms.

"Good, but you're all over the place. Let's try it again, but together." He walked on soundless, sock-clad feet over to the sound system and browsed through a few CDs laying around. When the first tunes of 'Wicked Game' reverberated through the air, Tony stopped suckling on his water bottle and burst out laughing. “You can't be serious.” He arched an eyebrow as Bruce got into position, expressionless as ever. “I am.”

Shaking his head, Tony got up, disposed of his bottle, and met him in the middle of the room.  
Their first few attempts were interrupted by snorting laughter and too many breaks.  
“Stop making moon eyes at me, Bboy.”

“Am not!”  
“Are too!”  
“Can we get this together for one time at least?”

Wayne Jr's voice had taken on an annoyed tone, and so Tony put up a straight face and went to humor him. He curved his body around Bruce's like pieces of a puzzle, and the latter responded to every little shift he made, like he anticipated the motions Tony was going to use. Bruce was not heavy, but solid. His 6'1 frame offered enough resistance for Tony to react to while still following through with his movement.

Through narrowed eyes, Bruce watched his opposite from close up. The faintest hint of a smile lurked around the corners of Tony's mouth, almost as if he was secretly enjoying himself. When Tony made the mistake of holding those eyes just a trifle too long, he fell out of lockstep and got thrown off-balance in an instant. Now those hazel eyes were chiding. "Focus." Stark gritted his teeth and did not respond, angry at himself.

During the final chorus line, their bodies moved against each other in sync; limbs entangled, torsos pressed together. If anyone had been watching their performance and the way it turned provocative, they would have been scandalized. Even after the music faded out, hazel lingered on dark-brown, each pair diluted within the ecstasy of the moment until Bruce drew back like someone had snapped their connection.

All of his muscles wobbling, Tony leaned forward to brace his hands on his knees and inhale huge gulps of air. Bruce ran his palms through sweated bangs and straightened up. "Something..." His voice was breathless, but he forced it down. “... something like that.” They separated to get their water bottles and to catch their breaths. After a few minutes, Tony snapped the plastic lid shut and cast his partner a determined look.

“The Greatest by Sia. Got a choreography in my head already. Not super duper finished, but it's a start. You just have to get more comfortable with freestyling.” Bruce scowled. “Just like you have to get better at ballet.” Both of them knew that Bruce had come to enjoy contemporary ballet because it offered him more variety, even though he was too rigorous to completely give up fundamental structures and rules.

Tony did not acknowledge his constant riposte and carried on, undeterred. “Have you seen the movie 'White Nights'?”  
  
“Of course!”  
“So then give me less Baryshnikov and more Hines.”  
“You want me to tap dance?”  
  
Tony rakishly put each of his hands on Bruce's hips.  
“No, I want a little more swagger in these two muchachos here.”  
He gave an accompanying wiggle until Bruce stepped back and tore out of his grip.

“Very funny.”

“It has to be artistic, but the mechanics of it have to be athletic.”

~

Tony's mind was a cluster of bright energy and imagination and creativity all rolled into one. His draft of a choreography was flawless, even if he did not dance it in an equally perfect way. That was where Bruce came into play. After a while, they became acquainted with the rituals of their new routine. One glance at the others eyes was enough to know if their footwork needed adjusting and progress was hard earned, but good.

Still, something was missing, and one day, back in the dressing room, Bruce dared to speak what had been on his mind for several days. "We should attempt a lift." Tony yanked his puffer vest tighter around his frame and wrapped a scarf around his neck. "Have you ever done a lift before?" Bruce zipped his bag shut. "No." A tsk. "And there goes my confidence." Bruce went and held the door open, but his brows furrowed.

"I won't drop you, silly."  
With a shrug, Tony hoisted his backpack higher.  
"But if you do, I'm out for a week. At least."

Bruce's face shut down and he stopped walking.  
"You don’t trust me."  
Turning around at the sudden halt, Tony spread his arms with faux regret.

"Not that much of a surprise, is it? We've only known each other for a few weeks."

Something changed in Bruce after that brief encounter. Even if Tony caved in and added a tampered down version of a lift, where he would do a slow motion back roll over Bruce's back, the taciturn Gothamite's movements became uneven during practice, despite Tony's constant and improved flow. Bruce kept on switching between careful and slow to hard and purposeful and back within the matter of seconds.

It did not take long for Tony to become frustrated. At first, he started to press back against Wayne's more forceful pushes. When their dance became more of a fight, the Stark heir stopped mid-stride and all but stomped his foot down. “Okay, man, what the hell is it that you're doing here?!”  Bruce's mouth curled with irritation. “I can't make this work if you don't properly tighten your core, damnit.”

“That's not the problem, Bruce, and you know it!"  
Bruce's eyes were clouded with distraction as he grabbed his towel and bottle.  
“Enough for today.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Wicked Game' by Chris Isaak, album: Heart Shaped World (1989)  
> 'The Greatest' by Sia, album: The Greatest (2016)


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce went and rehearsed by himself whenever Tony was not around. Equipped with a thick hooded sweater, a battered MP3 player, and a small bag he sneaked out of their suite and into one of the many empty training rooms down at Juilliard. The rooms were cold at night, so Bruce made sure to warm up extra diligent with a few sets of skipping rope or doing pushups.

Once done, he slipped the black headband higher up his forehead, put his earplugs in and pressed play. With the music booming inside his head he closed his eyes and drew up their choreography. Being centered and focused helped him to hit positions the right way, and after a while, he opened them again to see how the transitions looked in the many mirrors around him.

 _I'm free to be the greatest, I'm alive_  
_I'm free to be the greatest here tonight, the greatest_  
_The greatest, the greatest alive_  
_The greatest, the greatest alive_

What he did not know was that Tony was watching him that one night, hidden from view. Seeing Bruce allowing himself to emote was a breakthrough, after a long and painful period of him holding back. He dared to make his presence known as soon as the Gothamite knelt in a small puddle of sweat and gasped for air. “Fucking fantastic.” At that, Bruce's head jerked up, sending a whirl of sweat beads flying.

Tony leaned in the doorway, beaming at him with unabashed pride.  
“We're gonna make history, Bruce."  
  
Their friendship got a little easier after that. Tony started to take Bruce out with him, to explore the city during their rare leisure time. They even danced on the subway at night, running and jumping in between the empty gated stations of the NY metro until one of the many security guards or janitors would shoo them away.

During Tony and Bruce's period of hard work and budding friendship, tragedy stroke. The dean of the school appeared in the doorway of the rehearsal room one Wednesday morning, a week before Christmas, accompanied by two police officers. Everyone turned quiet and watched on how they zeroed in on Tony, who was sitting and tying his shoe laces. Bruce tapped his shoulder, making him look up.

“Anthony Stark? Follow us, please.”  
  
The whole thing took fifteen minutes. When he came back, Tony was an orphan, just like Bruce. The dean had tried to talk sense into the young boy, who had retreated into a corner, not making eye contact with anyone. “If you want to take a break from dancing, we can make an exception regarding your graduation...” A stubborn shake of a dark head. “No.”

“Anthony, we do understand that this is a hard time for you, and I just wanted to express...”

“NO! I want... I'll stay here.”

Bruce was the only one who did not treat him like was any different upon his return, and for that Tony was grateful, despite not voicing it. They would not speak more than a few words except for dancing instructions but stayed in each others presence until Tony felt comfortable to voice out loud what was troubling him. “I don't want to use this song anymore, I feel like it's not proper, and...

Bruce put the audio which was on repeat to a stop and nodded.

“Okay.”  
  
“And yeah, course I know that all of our hard work's going to waste, and it's not fair to you, and...”

“Tony...”

“Huh?”

“I said it's okay.”  
Dumbfounded Tony looked at him. A sparse smile flittered across Bruce's solemn features.  
“Go attend the funeral. When you get back, I have figured something out.”

~

Tony returned to Juilliard two days after the big funeral in Arlington to find Bruce had chosen an unknown piece of music for their final presentation. It worked well with their established choreography and only needed minor adjustments. To get those right, Bruce was unrelenting on both himself and Tony; mainly to stop the latter from over-thinking his personal tragedies.

"Again. This time with more emphasis on the back arch in the third part. On 0:53, you need to have more dramatics." Tony's shirt had gone from bright red to dark burgundy; leaving him drenched in sweat as he gritted his teeth and wiped an arm over his forehead. "Slave-driver. That's your real last name. Bruce Slave-driver." Young Wayne bestowed a very unimpressed and underwhelmed expression on him.

"I'm fine with that as long as we pass this exam."

During the tenth repetition of their lifting routine, Bruce felt a small crick somewhere down his lower back. It was not painful, and almost as instantly gone as it had appeared, and he paid it no more mind. When he woke the other day, however, he was unable to walk except for a slow and stiff egg-shell-like shuffle. Tony helped him over to the Health Services Center on the 22nd floor.

With their presentation close by, both boys were tense and waiting for Doctor Weiss to come back with the results from the MRI.

"Degenerated disc on L5."  
Bruce's scowl deepened.  
"Meaning what?"

The doctor overlooked his rude tone and adjusted his glasses.  
"Meaning I would advise you take it easy for the next weeks and give your body time to adjust."  
"I don't have the time to heal. I have a presentation."

At that, Doctor Weiss tilted his head. "Oh, don't get me wrong. Injuries like those never fully heal because gravity always keeps the disc compressed. It's only a matter of how strong and chronic the pain will become." The Wayne heir mulled over those words for a few moments. Then he stopped gnawing at his bottom lip and looked at the doctor with uncoated petulance.

"Give me something against it. I'm going to dance tomorrow."

~

"You good?"  
Tony's hushed voice made him raise his chin as they stood side by side, waiting for their cue.  
"Course."

After spending the remaining previous day in horizontal, favoring a hot water bottle, Bruce had taken one and a half Ibuprofen an hour before their performance. Their warming up sequence had not provoked any more pain, and he was back to feeling confident. Together they watched Pepper's and Diana's final sequences. Tony bit his lip when Diana blundered during a turn, even if she was quick to catch herself.

One quick glimpse at Bruce's profile revealed a stern expression, and Tony swallowed his bout of nervousness. Eventually, the music died and the jury began scribbling on their score sheets and give their first opinions. Jim Gordon's eyes roamed around. "Next up - Anthony Stark and Bruce Wayne." They nodded in unison and walked over to assume their positions in the middle of the room. 

The first piano chords floated through the air seconds later and both boys began to move in sync. During the first crescendo of strings, Tony dropped to the floor and performed a sequence of dramatic body rolls while Bruce did a flawless circular set of grand jeté jumps over him, going the opposite direction. As soon as they ended up face to face, Tony got up from the floor in a fluid like water motion.

He reached out for Bruce's face, fingertips tracing along his chin. Wayne grabbed his arms and all but yanked him against his chest with enough momentum for Tony to push himself off of his thigh and prepare for a somersault over his partner's body. Bruce's arms never wavered as they heaved him over his head, going into a deep arc of the back as he let go of Tony and turned to hunker down next to him.

The two minutes were over faster than they expected, and only when the music stopped did they dare to move.  
The faces of the jury were blank as usual, but their assessment was clear.  
“Pure and aesthetic.”

“Brilliant symbiosis and partnership - they breath together as one.”  
Jim Gordon nodded along to his colleagues' opinions with a pleased expression.  
“Straight A. Congratulations to you both.”

~

Overall results were mixed that day; apart from Tony and Bruce's excellent presentation, Steve and Clark also delivered a very strong and masculine performance. Diana and Pepper were the weakest with a B on their overall score, while Rhodes and Danvers earned special praise for their versatile choreography.

As soon as all pairs were done and relaxed in a casual circle on the floor, chatting and sipping from their isotonic drinks, Jim Gordon stepped into the middle and waited until all eyes were on him. "We have a special surprise - Michael Heaston, artistic director of the Met, is going to visit the day after tomorrow. He is looking for very strong modern contemporary dancers with good acting abilities."

An awed murmur went through the crowd. Jim Gordon shushed them with a held up hand and looked into the round of eager faces. "Auditions will be held in studio C19. Good luck to all of you." The possibility of scoring a job with the renowned opera house in New York dominated most conversations later on.

From where Bruce and Tony had followed their clique out for food to the nearest Subway restaurant, there were sandwiches unwrapped and devoured ten minutes later. Bruce Wayne sat in the far corner, sipping from vitaminwater, massaging his back whenever he thought no one was watching, and shaking his head whenever Tony tried to feed him some of his Italian sub.

"You need to eat."

"Not hungry."

"We'll take half of mine back to our room. And some cookies. But sandwich first."

"Stop mother-henning me."

"Stop grouching around, we just aced our presentation."

At first, Bruce said nothing. His fingers twirled the plastic straw of his cup.

"The Met is a big thing."

Tony crumpled the empty wrapper into a tight little ball. With cheeks full, he smiled at his partner.

"This could be our ticket, B."

Rubbing at a spot on his back just above the waistband, Bruce nodded.

"Yeah."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics and song belong to Sia, the producers and the label Monkey Puzzle/RCA Records
> 
> The choreography that inspired Bruce and Tony's performance can be found here:  
> https://youtu.be/9YbEtfJryXA?t=8
> 
> Micheal Heaston is the Met's real life artistic director


	5. Chapter 5

After a restless night, the morning of the audition fell upon a gray, bleak Friday. By now, the pain in Bruce's back was radiating into his left leg and made his toes tingle. With a frown he rummaged around his toiletries bag, looking for his stack of painkillers. Around their apartment suite, everything and everyone were in a rush, and the bathroom crowded and blocked as the girls did their hair and makeup.

"We're gonna be late! Hurry up!"

Tony scurried past, mouth full with toothbrush and white paste. His hair was already done and he wore his harem-style dance pants but was bare-chested as to not spill toothpaste on his shirt. Frowning into the small bag, Bruce eventually found half of an Ibuprofen and swallowed it down with a gulp of tap water. Pepper appeared behind him as he painfully straightened back up, and their eyes met in the mirror.

"Everything okay?"

It came out muffled since there were three hairpins wedged between her lips. Her hands were busy tightening the bun on her head. He nodded and wedged past her and the sink to escape her scrutiny.

~

"Good morning. Thank you for coming today to give us a chance of getting to know you and your skills. This will be an opportunity for you to get a feel for auditions and to gain experience for your future careers. Unfortunately, we cannot consider all of you. If we hold up a sign with your number on it, you are cut from the current competition. Please step out of the formation as quick and discreet as you can.”

Tony and Bruce shared a tense, brief look. Single auditions in bulk were something neither of them was familiar with. Juilliard was known for holding them whenever someone important from big opera houses was around, watching the audition and offering a handful of dancers the chance to come join their ensemble. The possibility of scoring a core spot on the NYC Ballet was enough to make all of them nervous.

When Bruce wore a sticker with the number 11 and Tony had been labeled number 15 they assumed their spots on stage, surrounded by 22 others.

Tony glimpsed at his best friend's flushed cheeks. Bruce had been riddled by heavy back pain during the previous day and night and was still having trouble moving. If he would have enough energy and stamina to put up a performance was debatable. Wayne's solemn gaze remained locked on the choreographer in front of them. He had been more than adamant about attending, no matter what.

"We would like to see you keep up this routine for the next five to seven minutes."

The music set in, and they were shown a brief choreography to a fast-paced song which had strong, almost hypnotizing beat. The combination was taught fast, and several boys and girls soon had trouble keeping up. They started checking out the people left and right, started to copy their movements, and were soon a beat behind the real-time choreography; dancing with blank or frantic expressions on their faces.

One by one, dancers left and right had to leave the stage. Clark and Diana were the last from their clique who did not make the cut, except for Steve, Tony, and Bruce. The latter kept his pace up but started to feel the toll that the ground work and back-bending movements were taking on his body. The painkiller was losing its effect fast, and he found himself sweating more and gritting his teeth behind closed lips.

The judges held up their signs once again.

'11'

“No!”

Tony nearly stopped on the spot, a certain kind of frenzy in his eyes.

“ _Dance!”_

Bruce's hissed command made it through the ringing in his ears. Numb, Tony went on as he was told. No one had seen his almost slip-up. From the corner of his eye, he saw his friend head for the stage's side entrance. Bruce must have sensed his gaze because he swung around one last time, eyes ablaze.

_'Dance!'_

And so Tony did, pouring all of his heart and soul and current devastation into his performance. He did not even hear the music fading out at some point until the few people left and right of him stopped moving and he caught Steve's eyes. His breathing was loud in his ears, but Tony forced it down to appear unfazed and casual. The artistic director's gaze skimmed along the small group of young students. Then he nodded.

“Congratulations. The five of you will be dancing in my upcoming show next winter.”

~

Bruce was in the changing room when Tony sought him out after getting the results.  
  
“Did you make it?”  
He did not directly look at him but Tony still nodded. Bruce nodded as well.  
“I'm proud of you.”  
  
Wordless, Tony slid onto the wooden bench beside him, knees tucked into his chest. After a little while, he dared to lean in, and, upon not being pushed away, rested his head on the taller boy's shoulder. “It wasn't your fault. If you hadn't been injured...” Bruce shrugged, pushing him off. “I sucked and I got the results.” Incredulous at the amount of self-hate in his voice, Tony raised his head.  
  
“You did not suck!”  
Bruce scrambled to his feet and walked off.  
“They thought I did, and what does it matter now!”

“Where are you going?”  
He held up a hand when Tony made a move to follow him.  
“I need to be alone for a while.”

Without looking back, Wayne headed towards the exit, duffel slung over a shoulder. He fought the hot searing tears behind his eyeballs down until he had skipped down the grand stairs and disappeared off into the dark. Behind him, loud and cheerful laughter erupted as the others celebrated Steve's and Tony's success, glomping Rogers and ruffling Stark's sweated mop of hair until he gave vocal protests.

Once Tony was able to extricate himself from his friends and told them he would meet them at the roadhouse for celebratory drinks later, he raced all the way over to their suite. The lights came on inside their room and he blinked. It was empty; a ripped-out page from a notebook on his pillow. He gripped it before sinking down onto the mattress. Tony read the lines over and over until his vision started to blur.

  
_You will be the greatest dancer New York has ever seen. I am sure of that._

_Take care  
Bruce_

 

**~END OF PART I~  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dance audition loosely inspired by this performance:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsrbZ30rYiQ


	6. Part II

While Tony Stark worked hard on obtaining his Bachelor of Fine Arts degree, Bruce Wayne returned to his hometown. He made use of his wealth and status to get in touch with one of the most renowned trainers of the eastern hemisphere. The man called Henri Ducard agreed to meet him in Gotham City and let Bruce dance for a painfully long 55 minutes in one of the Manor's many ballrooms before he passed on his judgment.

“You have to be willing to make sacrifices. You need to learn how to come on stage, command attention, and be the best version you can be. You have to become a creature; something inhuman that other people fear and admire at the same time.” From where Bruce cowered on the floor, sweat dripping from his bangs and forming little puddles on the ancient wooden planks, he glimpsed up.

“Teach me. Teach me how.”  
Henri Ducard smiled. It was not a warm smile.  
“I will.”

A few weeks later, Ducard left the States and took his newest disciple along to Russia.

~

“En avant... and now cou-de-pied in the front and in the back. Do not droop the heel! Again! Take the toes back! Dégagé! Faster! And now move into a développé. I want a slow, clean movement.”

Muscles already screaming in protest, Bruce held his standing position and drew the working leg up to the knee of the supporting leg. He slowly extended outwards and held it there, demonstrating perfect control until Ducard came closer, watching the beads of sweat rolling down his temples. Two stern fingers then reached out and pushed Bruce's jaw several inches higher.

“You have all the facial characteristics of an aristocrat – if you just used them correctly. Chin up! Elongate the neck. That's more like it. We will have shaped you after the Vaganova Method soon enough.” Wiping the sweat off his fingertips, the instructor left him in his current ordeal for another five long minutes. Eventually, Ducard snapped his fingers; a sign Bruce was allowed to ease out of whatever position he had been in.

“You will be working on your échappé sauté for the rest of the evening. Until they are soundless.”

~

Once Bruce turned 22, he had been subjected to the most rigorous and brutal training there was. Ducard had made him learn a saut de basque développé which became one of Bruce's unique moves; a complex jump not many dancers attempted to act out due to its high potential for failure. Ducard also used very unorthodox methods, like making his pupil train with a Cyr wheel to enhance his graceful lines.

Many times, Bruce had to suppress a wail at squashing either his hands or feet, because it would mean he had to work even longer on his routine if he let his pain show through. All of it eventually led to him becoming the youngest principal dancer to ever be allowed to join the ranks of the Moscow Academic Music Theater. Young Bruce shied away from the limelight until an angry Ducard drilled some sense into him.

“Play them like you would on stage. You cannot allow yourself to be aloof anymore.”

Nothing seemed to work against Bruce's condition until he started to dance with a black mask to conceal all his facial emotions. The mask became his signature feature and it eventually got him to land a leading role in the operetta-gone-ballet performance of 'The Bat'. There, he portrayed a notary who got ridiculed by others and got revenge dressed as a bat. All of a sudden, Bruce received recognition.

Soon enough, his performances were peerless, reviews were raving, 'Брюс Уэйн -Bryus Ueyn' as they called him- became a celebrity, and offerings to both the Kirov and the Bolshoi Ballet Theaters rolled in. Each night after 'The Bat' was over, Ducard would await his pupil behind the stage with a towel and a green concoction that tasted like swamp water in Bruce's opinion but was supposed to suppress cravings.

"This sucks. I can do more. I want more."  
Ducard watched his eleve gulp down the shake with barely contained disgust and patted a wiry shoulder.  
"I think you are ready."

~

When Tony first saw the ads for Swan Lake on several huge billboards and digital screens all around Time Square, he literally ran into a lamppost.

Bruce's hair was longer than he remembered, his face matured, and his body even leaner; on the verge of becoming too androgynous. His eyes though were what worried Tony the most. They were cold and distant like never before. And just like that, it hit him there and then: Bruce Wayne was the embodiment of a perfect ballet dancer. The interchanging headlines read critiques that were in unison:

_'A demigod: Sovereign, grandiose, magnificent - a paragon of grace'_

_'Meet the man who knows no gravity'_

_'A stunning command of the human body, and an utter disregard for gravity and physical limitations'_

_'A stirring display of strength and fragility - beautifully and masterfully executed.'_

“You look like you've seen a ghost.”  
Steve Rogers sounded part worried, partly amused as his friend stood and rubbed his forehead.  
“Guess I did... kinda.”

At Steve's curious glance, Tony pointed upward. Rogers, too, inspected the huge billboards for a while. Eventually, he put his arms akimbo and harrumphed. “Huh. Didn't think he had it in him. Him and that lax attitude of his.” Steve then nudged his shoulder. “C'mon now, we don't want to make the landlord wait.” Nodding along, Tony allowed him to be steered through the crowd, nevertheless casting a final glimpse back.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'The Bat' opera does exist (albeit sans cowl, lol) and looks like this  
> https://youtu.be/5hwyvhS6Cng?t=57
> 
> The Vaganova Method is a classical ballet training known in most parts of Russia:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaganova_method
> 
> Bruce's abilities are loosely based on Sergei Polunin, a very gifted and unorthodox ballet dancer:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sergei_Polunin


	7. Chapter 7

Fate had it for Tony to get an invitation to the 'Swan Lake' opera premiere in New York just two days later.

He had originally planned on taking Steve along, but the latter had to cancel short notice due to food poisoning. It would have been easy for him to ask Pepper or Rhodey to come along, but he decided to go alone. Ignoring the butterflies in his stomach, he took a seat in the Grand Tier front row; a very costly section, and one which provided an excellent view of the stage.

From the moment the curtains opened, Tony leaned forward, always waiting for one special person. According to the program of the Bolshoi Ballet lineup, Bruce was playing the story's central antagonist called Rothbart, a manipulative, censorious, and powerful sorcerer whose human form was only seen once in the third act. Even in costume, Tony knew it was Bruce the first moment he set foot on the stage.

It was during the second act that Bruce came on stage with such a flawless manege that it caused an appreciative murmur within the crowd. The Gothamite's style had changed over the years, going from youthful and obsessed enthusiasm to a dark, almost mechanical perfection. Tony swallowed and tried to capture every nuance and every motion.

Bruce portrayed the evil genius well, and Tony, as well as the audience, got entranced by his wicked game of fate with Siegfried, the hero. In the end, the current production had it for Bruce's character to be triumphant. Once the final chords of violins and drums reverberated through the large auditorium, people started to give thunderous applause, Tony Stark being one of them.

He waited for the first rush of the audience to pass and flashed his VIP badge to get access to the after party. Mingling with the international dancing scene was nothing new to him; his own skills and history had secured him a high reputation with key influencers in the performing arts. Involved in a mixture of small talk and self-advertising, Tony then spotted the person he had been waiting for.

Dressed in an impeccable tuxedo, Bruce walked through the rows of people with the same bored, vacant expression as on the billboards.

A beautiful and petite red-haired woman was by his side, whom Tony recognized as his current dancing partner, Natasha Romanova. Romanova was a talented prima ballerina and had managed to snatch the spot at Wayne's side off of Talia Al Ghul; daughter of Bruce's former manager and trainer Henri Ducard. It had been a public outcry in the ballet scene once Wayne decided to end his contract with The Shadow League on a whim.

Rumor had it Bruce and Talia had been romantically involved, which did not sit well with her father. Forced to break up with her, Wayne had switched to Romanov's agency called SHIELD -Sovereign Honors of Inspiration, Elegance, and Liberal Dancing- soon after.

Once Bruce had spotted him he, too, froze on the spot.

They were separated by the length of the grand auditorium, with many faces bustling in between. Still, their eyes remained locked. Wayne's female company realized what was going on and thus steered him over into Tony's direction. As they were standing face to face, still too stupefied to speak, Romanov lightly nudged Bruce's arm. “Don't you want to introduce us, Красавчик?”

She pronounced the word like 'krasavchik', and Tony had no idea what it meant. Bruce's lips stretched into a supercilious smirk as he glimpsed down at her. “Natasha, this is Anthony Stark, one of the best dancers on the east coast.” At that, Tony waved him off with an embarrassed little chuckle. “Oh please, he's off his rocker. I am good, but not that good. Pleased to meet you, Miss Romanova.”

Her intense gray eyes seized him up before she gave a nod. “So I finally get to meet him.” Her thick Russian accent held a tinge of reproach. Tony focused back on Bruce who was still looking at him with a certain kind of reverence that made him bold enough to press his luck. “How about a drink, buddy? We've got so much to catch up upon.” The nod Wayne gave was more than eager. He looked at his female companion again.

“If you excuse me for a while?” Romanova gave a condescending nod and reached out to cup his clean-shaven cheek. “I do not wish for you to stay away too long; I am a horribly jealous person.” Natasha's voice might have been playful, her eyes, however, were not. Her long, red nails left a faint trail on Bruce's jaw. Once she was gone, Tony gave an almost comical slump of the shoulders. “Wow. What a woman.”  
  
Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly.  
“She's overstepping boundaries as usual.”  
His face quickly sobered up.  
  
“Let's go get some fresh air.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Different takes on the role of 'Rothbart', but both performers are splendid. The first vid shows some sort of bat-like costume, and the second the aforementioned 'manege' movement (starting at 0:45):
> 
> https://youtu.be/apKWLis1lxc?t=42  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wrHMNcTuRAY
> 
> Красавчик [rus.] = pretty boy, looker  
> 


	8. Chapter 8

Equipped with two glasses of champagne, they meandered out onto the terrace. After downing his glass in one go, Tony licked his lips and smiled at his former roommate. “Good to see you, B. For real.” For the first time since he had entered the venue, those hazel eyes lost their pretense and turned softer. “You, too. How's life? I... haven't been up to date with the dancing scene overseas.” Remorse swung within those words.

Tony cleared his throat. “I'm about to open my own dance academy in New York soon. It's been a lot of work and even more toing and froing, but after I got diagnosed with a genetic heart condition last year, the dream of a professional career on stage is...” He made a fleeting gesture up into the air. With a stricken look, Wayne's eyes darted from Tony's smiling countenance to his chest and back.

“I'm... sorry. How... I mean, are you able to dance at all?” Stark kept his brave facade and waved him off. “Nothing's gonna keep me from it. I manage - heck, I'll live. Some call it bad luck, others fate. We'll see.” A deep frown settled between Wayne's brows and he stared into his drink, at a loss for words. Fearing the mood was ruined, Tony stepped in closer and nudged his shoulder.

“Cheer up, c'mon. Long QT syndrome isn't a death sentence. Besides, I've got so much to live for. The academy is my baby.” Bruce's fingers curled around his half empty glass of ginger ale. “I want to see it sometime.” It was a quiet admission. “Once this whole circus is done and over with.” Tony gave an incredulous chuckle. “Circus? You're the star of the most renowned ballet worldwide. Reap the benefits, you really made it.”

Wayne's deep-set eyes narrowed. “No, I didn't. I mean... to an extend. The rest...” He pushed the glass away, ran a hand through long bangs and exhaled with dejection. “Where's the restrooms around here?” Tony motioned for him to follow along. He led him through the crowd and slipped through a nondescript door.

Once they were alone, Bruce pushed him into a dark corner of the opera's foyer and invaded his mouth with a hunger that caught Tony by complete surprise. When he had the chance to come up for air, he pressed his palms flat against Bruce's hard chest, urging him to stop. “... what about... Talia... and Natasha...” In the twilight, Bruce's eyes were a whirl of desire, desperation, and something else.  
  
“It's all for the public, I don't want them to know me... what I really crave... who I really am...” He swallowed and leaned in once again. That time, Tony did not protest or stop him. When far away sounds from the catering staff reached their ears, Bruce drew back with a low hiss and wiped over his swollen lips. “I have been thinking about you all those years. About the chance I missed. We missed.”

His long fingers came up to cup the side of Tony's face. “Come to my suite tonight. I will be able to steal away around here before midnight.” Stark had to suppress a shiver and gulped. “Bruce, I...” At the audible and visible hesitation, Wayne's eyes narrowed. “What?” Tony averted his gaze with a blink. “I am... seeing someone.” The fleeting vulnerability that Bruce had allowed to seep through vaporized in that instant.  
  
“You could've said that earlier.”

Tony slumped at little and pressed thumb and index finger into his eyes as he squeezed them shut. “I know, and it fucks me up to admit that I... you... I've wanted this for so long, but I can't... it's not fair to... him.” Both Wayne's stance and a growing smirk became predatory. He put a hand up against the wall, close to Tony's head and leaned in close to whisper against the outer shell of Tony's ear.  
  
“No one has to know then. Just one night. And afterward, you can either go back or make up your mind.” A shiver ran down Tony's entire back at the soft sensation of Bruce's warm breath. He forced his eyes open again and followed the tip of Bruce's tongue as it appeared to wet his upper lip. “I have a good thing going on, Bruce. Even if it may not be as enticing as you...r offer. I am faithful.”

With a push against the granite wall, Wayne drew back. There was barely contained scorn written all over his possessive countenance. “I hope the guy honors your attitude.” He straightened his tuxedo and glanced back one more time, over to where Tony was still clutching the wall like a lifeline. “You're the first one to ever shoot me down. But you'll certainly be the last.”

His determined stride echoed on marble tiles as Bruce Wayne made his way back to the soiree.  
  
“Bruce...”  
Tony's whisper faded within laughter and music as the Gothamite pushed the door to the ballroom open.  
“... I hope you find what you are looking for.”  
  
They did not see each other again that night, that week, or the months that should follow.

~

In less than a year, the dance academy Tony had opened together with Steve went from a little hole in the wall studio to a posh loft on the upper east side of New York. “Dancers Assemble” was their baby, and it was finally flourishing after a lot of hardship and endless meetings with the bank. The return on investment was better than even Tony and his mathematical genius had foreseen it.

If it bugged Steve that Tony was the one who put all of the money into their endeavor, he never said it. Their team of coaches and dance instructors now involved 15 people on payroll; many of them alumni of Juilliard who preferred a more relaxed and casual work environment than with a huge dancing company. They even had an official secretary called Jarvis, who had become the heart and soul of the office.

“Pepper's ballet class is booked solid for the next three months.” Steve smiled at that. Tony and he were sitting in the main office opposite of each other at their desks, working on their individual laptops and going over the daily schedule. Many plants filled the glass cube office, as well as trophies and medals of dance contests won by either them or their instructor classes.

“That's great. Oh, and I have an interview with a guy who could be a real asset to our team. His name's Sam, and he's currently teaching hip hop classes at Brooklyn Center Stage. I'm meeting him at 1:30 for lunch.” Tony nodded. “Rhodey's other job doesn't allow him to work full time for us, no matter how much I keep offering.”  
  
“You know James isn't all about the money.” Tony sighed. “Wouldn't I know. Damn platypus and his ideals.” It was said with affection. “So Sam... whatshisname then. Can he do weekend classes? Cause that's where we're tight at the moment.” Steve shrugged. “Dunno. I'll ask of course.” He leaned over the desk to place a kiss upon his boyfriend's mouth and grabbed for his nearby sweater.

“I'll be back before we open.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Bruce Wayne came to learn he was not invincible at the age of 26. One minute, he was performing the best male solo of Don Quixote he had ever danced, the other he found himself on a gurney at the emergency room of Saint Petersburg, getting told he had most likely busted his left ACL for good. He returned to the States as a broken young man two months later; his weary feet leading him to the Big Apple.

Finding Tony's dance academy was not hard. The big bold lettering outside the posh building gleamed at him from far away. Bruce was way too early for official opening hours and lingered around the main entrance for a while, until a postman with a huge set of key rings enabled him to slip in unnoticed. The loft was huge and airy and smelled of warm, comforting scents like vanilla and leather.

The walls were decorated with lots and lots of framed pictures – smaller ones as well as poster-sized ones that spoke of premiers. Bruce skimmed over them, trying to spot one person. Photos showed Tony arm in arm with other celebrities of the dancing or entertainment industry. A few framed newspaper articles also held black and white pictures of Stark during a performance on stage.

Bruce had to smile when he spotted familiar faces like Pepper Potts, James Rhodes, or Steve Rogers. Through the glass wall partitions, movement then caught his eye, and he shrunk back into the shadows of the corridor. A man in casual sweatpants, sneakers, and a black t-shirt entered what looked to be one of the administration rooms of the studio and plopped down in a chair.

He powered up a notebook and, while waiting for it to boot, grabbed a pile of letters from the side. Bruce's heart began to hammer hard and fast against his ribcage. Tony looked healthy and vibrant. His dark locks were barely tamed by a trucker cap worn backwards, making him look cute instead of silly. He seemed a bit more tan and hefty than back in the days, but still as wiry as Bruce remembered.

Wayne found himself lingering, only pausing to glimpse down at himself in disgust. As to be expected, he had gained weight after having to quit his rigorous dancing program from one day to the other. He was not overweight but a good fifteen pounds heavier than during his prime days. About to sneak out again, overwhelmed and ashamed for being there uninvited, a deep baritone hollered after him.

“Hey! Who's there? We're still closed. Can I help you?”  
The utter shock on Tony's face when he turned back around was what pained him most.  
“... Bruce!”

In an instant, Stark dropped the papers in his hands and jogged over to where Wayne stood, all awkward in his black, bulky windbreaker. Wordless, Tony pulled him into a heartfelt, tight hug. Shocked at first, Bruce returned it, albeit less ferocious. Tony smelled fresh and spicy, and also so much like back in the days that it made Bruce dizzy. Holding him at arms' length, Stark eventually drew back to look at him.  
  
“Wow, I don't... why didn't you tell me you were in New York? When did you arrive?”  
Wayne mustered up a tentative smile.  
“Just got here two days ago.”  
  
Enthralled and surprised at same time, he noticed Tony had not changed as much as he had feared. From up close, there were some laughing lines around his eyes, and he had grown out a neatly trimmed goatee that only added to his attractiveness. “Do you plan on staying?” Tony's question shook him out of his reverie. The heavy sincerity in those big brown eyes made Bruce swallow, then nod.  
  
“A little.”

~

“I can walk around just fine, even dance or do moderate to heavy exercise. Just too much pressure in various positions and I am limping for a few weeks again.” Tony's eyes wandered all the way down to his left leg and rested on his knee, thoughtful. “Blundered surgery?” Bruce shook his head. “I left before they could rope me into it.” Tony's fingers drummed a little melody into the armrest of the leather couch.  
  
“I need a male ballet teacher. Pepper's good, but you remember what they used to say at Juilliard?”

“ _Boys need to be taught by men.”_

They spoke in unison, mimicking the Polish accent of their old instructor until both had to laugh. Bruce was the first to clear his throat and become all serious. “I'm still not entirely convinced that is true.” Tony watched him with apprehension and leaned forward. “So...? Is that a yes or a no?" Wayne inhaled. “That is a maybe – I have to get back in shape first.” At that Stark turned up a palm and tsked.

“You aren't out of it, but suit yourself. Where will you be living?” Bruce's eyes flew out to where New York was laying at their feet. “I'll settle for a hotel room until I figured out where I want to stay.” Tony clicked his tongue. “New York's expensive.” Hazel eyes narrowed in good-natured spite. “And I'm not exactly broke.” Tony's white, even teeth gleamed at him.  
  
“You just jinxed yourself for the upcoming salary negotiations, buddy.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the last update of this story for a while, but I do plan on adding its final part at some point.  
> Thank you to anyone who read this far!

“Do you really think we can afford him?”  
From where Tony had looked out onto Hudson River, he then cast his boyfriend a lopsided smirk.  
“My money, my payroll, sweetcheeks.”

“Great way of reminding me that you're the boss around here, Tony.”

“That was a joke, Steven.”  
Tony's voice turned snide, to which Steve's eyebrow arched.  
“Or was it.”

Much to Tony's joy, Bruce had gone and accepted his offer after two weeks. He also passed on the quite generous salary in favor of being allowed to use the facility for his own training purposes during non-opening hours. Tony honored his wish with a keycard made for him, even though Steve did not approve. After reuniting with his fellow comrades from Juilliard, Bruce eventually came to spend most of his time at the academy.

Around lunchtime, Steve had finished his daily run at Central Park and entered the academy to a domestic scene. Rhodey, Pepper, and Tony were sitting in the staff room overlooking the largest training hall. Bruce Wayne was there too, sitting at Tony's side and poking around a Tupperware bowl of salad. Stark greeted his boyfriend with a beatific smile. "How was your run?" Steve pecked his lips before getting a drink from the fridge.

"Good. Met Sam on mile seven. We wanted to go out for lunch in twenty minutes. Wanna come along?"

With Pepper and James deeply engrossed in a conversation, Bruce glimpsed from Steve to Tony. Then he stood up, put his boxed-up leftovers in the fridge and his used tableware into the staff dishwasher. “Excuse me.” Tony patted his arm in passing while Steve simply watched him walk away. At the sight of the slim keycard in his hand, Rogers then narrowed his eyes. “Can we really trust him? Not even James or Pepper have a card.”

Tony rose from his chair. “You mean he refuses to get paid a shitload of money and then goes to steal out of the petty cash?” Blue locked with brown until Steve was the first to avert his eyes. “What about lunch? Sam's waiting outside.” He very well saw Tony's eyes flicker down to where Wayne had entered the large training room and started to warm up with some stretches, unmindful of their scrutiny.

“Nah, I just ate, but can you bring me a grande Americano?”

~

When he entered the training room, loud, pulsating music vibrated off the walls. Oblivious to his company, Bruce Wayne was in the middle of a strenuous set of maneges until Tony turned the volume of the music down. “Easy does it, tiger.” Panting out loud, Bruce straightened up, shook out his legs and scrunched up his face, too breathless to reply. Tony tsked. “You're wearing yourself out before the first classes have even begun.”

He flung a towel at him, which Wayne caught one-handed. He rubbed at his cheeks until they were dry and rosy. “I need to get back in shape.” Tony rolled his eyes. “You've never been out of shape, sillypants. Your bod is a work of art, Michelangelo sculpture level.” Wayne snorted. “Says you.” He threw the towel into the corner, next to his water bottle and a spare pair of shoes. “Something wrong?” Stark shrugged.

“Nothing, just checkin on ya. And to give you an update on your upcoming class. So far we've got three boys.” Bruce nodded. “How old are they?” “In between 8 and 11.” Before the silence could become too awkward, Tony sniffed out loud and tilted his head. “Been meaning to ask. How the heck did you get to become so damn aerial during your jumps? I swear it looks like you're cheating, but I wouldn't know how, or with what.”

Amused at the way Tony put an index finger to his lips and walked around him, Bruce put his arms akimbo.  
“If you should ever get around to purchasing a Cyr wheel, I'll show you.”  
The glint in Tony's eyes increased.  
  
“Oh, now I will. Just to see you go Cirque de Soleil on me.”

~

The first time Tony saw Bruce interact with the Cyr wheel was two days later, and he could not help but be hypnotized. “Fuck, he's good. This could be something to take up in our portfolio, honey.” Standing next to him, Steve's face darkened the longer they stood and watched Wayne roll and spin in a gyroscopic way while performing acrobatic moves in and around the rotating wheel with seemingly effortless stamina.

“Good thing he just needs to come back here with a nifty toy and you're forgetting how he treated you.”

“Huh? I hold his athleticism and his accomplishments to the highest value, how is that wrong?”

Steve gave a small but still audible grunt and put his hands on his hips. “Just make sure your hero worshipping doesn't get out of hand.” Tony watched his boyfriend turn and walk away, headed for the staircase. Once Steve had left, Tony's gaze fell back on the person behind the glass panels. Bruce had stopped training and was watching him in return. He then made a move to beckon him over.

Tony entered the room with a casual stride and no traces of the previous conversation evident on his face. "This is really the greatest thing I've ever seen." Wayne still stood amid the wheel and cocked his head. “You want to try it out?” Tony put up both hands, palms facing his friend, and shook his head. “Nonono, I value my fingers and toes too much.” Bruce kept the wheel in a mesmerizing wave-like motion around his body.  
  
“You can hold on to me if you like.”  
His voice held an enticing tone. Heart skipping a beat, Tony took off his shoes and socks before he had time to think.  
“Okay.”

Bruce stood like Da Vinci's Golden Ratio and held the wheel up. “Put your arms under my shoulders and your feet upon mine.” Tony did as he was told, aware of their close proximity. A whiff of minty breath then hit his forehead. “Ready?” A nod. “Your fault if I puke.” They grinned at each other. “Don't you dare.” With a move of his whole body, Bruce then brought the wheel into a slow spin around its axle.

He kept his gaze on Tony all the time, gauging his reaction. Soon, a smile lit up the latter's face. “Let's try the topsy-turvy thing.” He shifted a little and pressed up tight against Bruce's torso. “Spin my world around, c'mon.” The first time Tony was upside down, he closed his eyes against a bout of vertigo. The second time, he dared to open them and found it easier to keep them locked onto Bruce's instead of the rotating room.

“Okay?” Tony affirmed with an emphatic nod and the utmost joy. “Geez, it's almost like flying!” At his awe, something warm and tender hushed over Wayne's even features. “Take your feet off and hold onto the wheel.” They moved into an easy, slow sequence for Tony to do as he was told. Bruce braced himself against the wheel, and for the briefest of moments, Tony was floating within the air.

He got bold enough to tilt his head backward and arched his back, feeling weight- and dauntless, just like Icarus. Then his rational mind set back in, and with it a bout of panic. His feet scampered around, looking for support, and, upon not finding the wheel in time, he clasped his legs around Bruce's midriff. Wayne thankfully was able to balance out the sudden change in momentum and brought them to a safe stop soon after.

“Sorry for that, I lost it there for a sec.” Tony looked contrite, but Bruce shook his head. “It was a bit much for a first try.” Stark said nothing, so he added. “But you're a natural, I can tell.” After regathering his wits and his breath, Tony stepped out of the wheel and rubbed his neck. “Good thing Steve didn't see that.” Bruce's eyes narrowed, if only for a brief moment. “Why?” Scorn and embarrassment crossed Stark's features.

“The doctors advised me to stop dancing and get a defibrillator implanted. Needless to say, I refused. I don't want to live like a robot with a titanium box in my chest. I'd rather live with the risk of having another episode. Ever since then, however, Steve's watching me like a hawk. Gets tiring." The wheel glided down to the floor with a clink. “And yet you let me take you inside the Cyr? Do you know how reckless that was?”

At Bruce's glowering stare, Tony rolled his eyes. “It wasn't even strenuous for me, so stop fussing.” The Gothamite exhaled through his nose and ran a hand through his damp bangs.  “So why was he looking like a sourpuss before then?” Baffled at the fact Bruce had indeed picked up on their dissonance even from afar, Tony tried for suave damage control. “Wha- no. That was... something else. Nothing, really.”

Looking for a distraction, Tony hopped around on one foot, putting his socks back on. Bruce cleared his throat.  
“Did you ever tell him about...?”  
Tony whipped his head up to look at him.  
  
“Hell no, you think I'm stupid?!”  
Bruce gave a rueful smirk.  
“You don't know what I was going to say.”  
  
With a swift move, Tony grabbed his shoes and walked off.  
Something sad flitted over his countenance as he looked over his shoulder one last time.  
“No, I was.”

 

**~END OF PART II~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's Cyr wheel performance inspired by this:  
> https://youtu.be/MBBypvakUdI?t=52
> 
> Bruce and Tony inside the wheel loosely inspired by this magnificent performance:  
> https://youtu.be/UfW8YuXicIo?t=42


	11. Part III

Despite not wanting to admit it, Bruce's ACL started to flare up more often during his more frequent training sessions. It went up to the point where it also came to Tony's attention during one of their mutual warm-up routines. “Trouble?” Tony regarded him with suspicion. Bruce kept on massaging his thigh and shook his head. “It's nothing.” Stark shook his head with a tsking sound, looking thoroughly unconvinced.

“Why don't you let Steve have a look? He's taken several physiotherapy courses and is quite good at taping and massaging people. It sure comes in handy whenever one of the students or one of us pulls a muscle.” Bruce tried to bolt, but Tony basically forced him into the small massaging room before heading off to search for his boyfriend. Rogers arrived to find his reluctant patient sitting on the physio couch.

"Lay down and roll up the sweatpants." His tone was commandeering. Wayne complied with a wary expression while Steve loomed over him. Sterilizing his hands, Rogers then fixated him with a stern look. “Where does it hurt?” Bruce propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at his lower body. “Left knee.” When Steve grabbed his leg, he did with so much force that Bruce almost yelped out in painful surprise.

“Tell me when it gets too much.” Despite his gruff tone, his hands now were gentle and cool as he put the middle and index finger of each hand on either side of the damaged knee, half an inch down from Bruce's kneecap. For the next few minutes, he rubbed the area in a small, steady circular motion. "Feels like a lot of fluid retention in that area. Surprised you can move around that much."

The Gothamite gave a little grunt and blinked up at the ceiling. "I've had worse." He missed out on the sneer that flashed across Steve's face. "Let's try the patella technique then." His massaging movements stopped. "Pull your left knee up toward your chest but keep your foot flat on the couch." Bruce did as he was told. Steve placed all four fingers of each hand on either side of his knee, thumbs under the kneecap.

He then began to apply moderate pressure while moving the thumbs from side to side.  
  
"How's that?"

“Fine."

Rogers' glacial eyes found his. Slowly but steadily, his thumbs began to knead deep into the tissue. Sweat started to break out on Bruce's forehead and in the small of his back. Wayne swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay. Ease up.” A nauseous feeling spread from the bottom of his stomach when Steve kept unrelenting fingers on an especially nasty pressure point.

“You know that saying? It has to get worse before it gets better.”  
By now, Steve's voice was like chipped ice. Tears started to prickle behind Bruce's closed eyelids.  
“Fuck, Steven, let go!”  
  
Wayne's hissed out command eventually did the trick, and Steve released him.  
“You should do the same, Bruce. Let it go.”  
Bruce was left behind, arm thrown over his face while he tried to catch his breath and gather his bearings.

~

The shift in team dynamics became palpable after that. It went up to the point where Wayne kept his distance towards everyone, Tony included. He started training at odd hours and avoided team lunches in the staff kitchen. Many times, Tony tried to seek him out, harboring strong suspicions about his peculiar behavior, but Bruce always managed to deflect or deny at the very first signs of a potential conversation.

On a gray Thursday morning, Jarvis called Tony and Steve's office. "You have a visitor, Sirs." They shared a curious look before stepping out into the corridor. A familiar face stood at the front desk of the academy, already swarmed by Rhodey and Pepper. “Clark!” The tall muscular man gave a magnificent smile that emphasized the dimples on his cheeks. “Hi, everyone. Gosh, it's been forever!”

He slapped Tony's shoulder which earned him a mock-protest and hugged Steve with vigor. “What are you doing here you big hunk!?” Clark grinned back at his former dancing partner and roommate. “Actually, Bruce contacted me to come by for a visit.” It prompted Tony's mouth to curl into a small, teasing smirk. “Can't believe that's all it took for the Superman of modern dance to show up at our studio.” At that, Clark looked abashed.

“Oh, no, that's just a silly moniker, I... don't go by that.”

“... no, you're likely to prefer 'The Man of Tomorrow' or 'The Metropolis Marvel'.”

Everyone turned at the quiet voice from behind. When Wayne entered the foyer, dressed in an all-black ensemble of athletic wear, Kent's face lit up like a beacon. “Bruce!” He detached himself from the circle of former classmates to embrace the Gothamite in a hug. Bruce returned it after an initial pause and awkwardly patted his broad back. “I didn't expect you to come by so soon.”

Clark held him at arms' length for a moment before he stepped back. “Wouldn't pass on a chance to see everybody in the same spot. Too bad Di's missing out on this.” His eyes traveled around the airy loft, taking in everything before he focused back on the man in black next to him. "Are you free for lunch? My treat."

Much to Tony's secret chagrin, Bruce was quick to accept.

~

Sitting at a cozy table at The Writing Room, a ten-minute-walk from the studio, Clark and Bruce toasted each other with their sodas. A basket full of freshly baked items stood in their middle, next to two plates of avocado toast and a side dish of roasted tomatoes with pine nuts, basil, and truffle butter.

“So how's Diana?”

“Good. She's currently on a tour through Greek. Themyscira or something.”

“The two of you have gotten very good critiques last season.”

Kent smiled and averted his eyes. “She's the best dancing partner I could've wished for.” A pause. “Since the other option remained pretty much unavailable ever since.” Lips quirking, he then looked up, only to meet Wayne's saturnine glance. “We've never been compatible on stage if you remember.” Kent's smile turned into an odd mixture between lenient and teasing. "Thanks to someone's bullheaded attitude."  
  
Bruce glowered at him, to which Clark raised his palms in mock-surrender. “Ten years make a lot of difference. I've seen your performances on TV, I know what you're capable of.” The Gothamite's eyes hardened. “That was before my injury.” Clark tilted his head and poked at the sugar dispenser in front of him. “Even if. I want you to join our ranks. At least I want you to think about it. Diana, you, me." The Gothamite snorted. "Really now?"

Undeterred at the amount of sarcasm thrown back at him, Clark put a hand on his arm.  
"Come over to Metropolis, have a look at the way we work. S'all I ask.”  
Bruce Wayne's smile lost a bit of its sharp edge, even if he withdrew from the touch.  
  
“Still that same old boy from Kansas.”  
Clark took no offense and laughed instead, reaching for another baked roll.  
“You bet.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

That evening, Tony and his crew took Clark out on a Friday night club tour around the Big Apple. Kent had been in New York for work-related appointments but never for partying, so they made sure to give him the best, non-touristy booze tour possible. Tony and Steve led the way, followed by Clark who was torn between taking pictures with his mobile and talking to a, for the most part, taciturn Bruce Wayne.

The Gothamite had been reluctant to join, but after both Kent and Pepper Potts had persuaded and sweet-talked him into coming along, Bruce ran out of stamina to make up excuses. The redhead was the only female in the group and enjoyed her status immensely, strutting down Upper East Side in strappy heels.

Completing the pack were Jarvis and Rhodey, who were also the first ones to call it a day after two and a half hours and several beers, despite Tony's fervent pleas for them to stay. “Some of us have to work tomorrow, Tones.” The latter stuck out his tongue at him. “Come work for me full-time, problem solved.” Rhodes flicked his thumb and index finger against his forehead with affection. “Your work ethics suck.”

Stark swatted at his hand. “I don't hear Jarvis complaining - isn't that right, J?” The office manager tilted his head. “Never to your face, Sir.” Another round of laughs, then the two men disappeared in the subway. With the small delegation now diminished to five, Steve fished for his mobile, one arm thrown around his shorter boyfriend's shoulders. After skimming through a couple of texts, he eventually looked up.

“Sam's at Therapy. He asks if we come over?” Everyone except Tony looked at him in confusion. Stark was quick to clear the situation up. “A gay club.” Pepper's eyes lit up. “Yes! I'd love to!” The rest of her statement drowned out in between tipsy giggles. Tony's grin was part intoxicated, part affectionate. “Think Pep's ready for some Therapy then! Let's grab a cab.”

Bruce remained where he stood and glimpsed at his watch. “Think I'll pass. It's quite late already.” The looks he earned ranged from satisfaction by Rogers' to disappointment by Tony, Clark, and the rest. “Aww, c'mon Bruce, it's not even 1 am.” Thin lips curled in dismay. “So what. I'm tired.”

“Need your beauty sleep? Nah, you're purty enough already.” At Tony's cheeky words and wink, Steve's grip turned more into one of a chokehold, albeit without too much force. He used it to press a kiss against the other man's temple, all the while watching Wayne across from them. “If he wants to go, let him.” Rogers then squinted over to where a cab just passed them by. “There's our chance, c'mon!”

Clark gave it one more try; his warm fingers reaching around his friend's wrist, trying to pull him along. “Please, Bruce, just for half an hour.” His puppy-dog expression somehow made Bruce more irate. On the outside, he gave a curt shake of the head. “Sorry, Clark. Go have fun. I'll see you tomorrow.” Their brief physical connection got torn when Bruce stepped back and Clark had to let go of his arm.

~

The repetitive sound of a buzzing doorbell woke Bruce from his deep slumber.

He fumbled around for the alarm clock on the nightstand until the digits 3:22 flashed back at him. The doorbell rang again, and he got to his feet and padded out into the corridor to look through the spyhole. Seconds later, he unlocked the door. “Tony?” Said man swayed on the doorstep, not meeting his gaze. “Hi, ssorry, I just...” Tony sniveled into his sleeve and frowned.

“I just caught Steve n Sam, and I'm drunk 's fuck an I didn't kno where t'go, an...”  
Bruce Wayne stepped aside and reached out to take him by the arm as Tony stumbled against the wall.  
“Come in.”

Stark reeked of alcohol and his eyes were small and bloodshot in the artificial light of the corridor. “Sam was blowing him, Bruce... they were fuckin right there at t'restrooms of th' Therapy, an...” Tony barely made it into the nearby bathroom to hurl the content of his stomach into the bowl. Bruce held his forehead as he puked his guts out over and over again until nothing but dry retching came out.

Face grim, Wayne then flushed and reached under the armpits of his limp friend. “Easy does it. Relax.” With a strong move, he hoisted him up and seat him onto the rim of the bathtub. Bruce kept on mumbling nothings as he steadied Tony with one arm and reached over to wet a bunch of toilet paper under the faucet. He ran them over Tony's mouth several times, uncaring about the lint that got stuck in his goatee.

His motions eventually brought the intoxicated man back to a certain kind of consciousness. “Fuck, 'm a mess.” Tony dipped his chin onto his chest and heaved deep breaths. Bruce threw the wet paper clod into the small trash bin at his feet. “Hush now. Think you can walk with me to the bedroom to lay down?” After a few heartbeats, Tony gave a small nod. He wobbled in Bruce's grip all the way down the corridor.

Turning him onto the side, Bruce briefly left to place a bucket filled with a bit of water next to Tony's side. “You want to drink something?” Underneath the blankets, a dark head moved. “Nuh-uh.” Bruce nevertheless fetched a glass of water before he crawled in next to him. “Wouldn' do that t'me, ever, wouldya, Br'ce?” Tony's voice was muffled and small, and Bruce tightened his grip on the sheets.  
  
“Never.”

Another sniffle but no further words were spoken. While Tony's breathing eventually evened out and he slipped into an alcohol-induced slumber, Bruce Wayne lay awake and stared at the closed curtains behind which a new day settled over New York City.

 


	13. Chapter 13

At some point, Bruce must have fallen asleep again, because once he blinked his eyes open, the bed next to him was empty.

Bleary-eyed he sat up, unsure whether he had just dreamed the past few hours until shower sounds from the bathroom down the corridor reached his ears. Glimpsing at the clock revealed it was already 2:28. He flopped back on the mattress and rubbed his tired face between both palms. Despite not having more than two beers, he felt sluggish. A lock turned just then, and footsteps approached his bedroom.

“Hey.”

Bruce took away his hands and squinted up. Tony's hair was damp and combed back, and he had slung one of Bruce's towels around his hips. Wayne swallowed but kept his eyes above his neck until Tony pointed at his current getup. “Hope it was okay for me to take a shower, I felt rather gross after... well, you know.” Bruce propped himself up on his elbows. “Course it's okay. How do you feel?” It sounded as awkward as he felt.

Tony gave a small smile that did not reach his eyes. “Like hell, but that was about to be expected.” He pursed his lips and put his arms akimbo. “At least I'm clean, but I probably shouldn't wear that shirt again.” The opportunity for a distraction was there and Bruce took it. He slung the covers back and got up to head for his built-in closet. “Take one of mine.” As he stood and sifted through his clothes, he heard Tony step up.

Two arms then went around his midriff and a warm body pressed against him from behind. “Thank you. For everything.” Again, Bruce swallowed and briefly closed his eyes. “It's alright. You'd do the same for me.” He could feel the spot between his shoulder blades getting wet as Tony leaned his head against it. “How can you be so sure?” Shirt in hand, Bruce then turned around with care, prompting Tony to loosen his embrace.

He met his dark gaze and gave a lenient smile as he handed the item over. “Because we're friends.” Stark took it even as their eyes darted in between each other for a while. “Are we, Bruce? Still friends?” Wayne gave a faltering nod. Tony's free hand then reached up to cup his cheek and trace the shadow of a stubble. It caused a small shiver to go through Bruce's whole body. “Could we be more than friends?” Bruce swallowed.

“I, uh...”

When words failed him, Tony seized his chance. He got up on his toes and leaned in close to plant a soft kiss on Bruce's mouth. “Tony, no...” His voice was a low and desperate mumble against a warm pair of lips, fists balled tightly as if to avoid reaching for the towel around Tony's waist. Bruce tried to take a step back from temptation. It resulted in Tony snuggling up further, making Bruce catch a whiff of his own shower gel.

“Why? Don't you still want me?”

“I do.” Bruce's voice was a croaked, strangled whisper. “But you're not in a state to decide if this is the right time or not.” For the longest time, Tony's eyes roamed all over his face until they grew softer. It was then that he gave a final stroke to the taller man's unshaven cheek. “You're a good man, Bruce Wayne.”

With a borrowed and slightly too big shirt, Tony called a cab and left half an hour later. Even though Bruce objected against going back to his and Steve's apartment, Tony turned around at the flight of stairs outside of Bruce's apartment. “No worries, I'll text you.” For the rest of the afternoon, the Gothamite found himself worrying and staring at his phone until it finally blinked an incoming message.

 _'_ _How about breakfast tomorrow at Sarabeth's? My treat.'_

~

The next morning at 9:30 sharp, Bruce walked from the subway over to the restaurant. Tony was already there, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. His smile became wide when he spotted him. “Glad you could make it.” Inside they got seated at a table at the window, close to the counter but still fairly private. After ordering coffee, fresh juice, French Toast, eggs and waffles, Bruce decided to breach the subject.

“Any news?”

“Nope.”

“Have you heard from or spoken to him?”

“Nope.”

“We're not talking about this?"

“Nope.”

With that, Bruce Wayne inclined his head.

“Fair enough.”

He then followed Tony's initiative of digging into the food on his plate. When his phone rang, Bruce looked more annoyed than embarrassed. Tony still urged him to take the call. He tried hard not to eavesdrop on the curt and monosyllabic way Wayne answered the person on the other end before he took the phone from his ear and slipped it aside. His friend threw him an amused look.

“Cheer up, buttercup. Who was the poor devil you just scowled into submission?”

Bruce resumed stacking the remains of his frittata into one neat pile. “Clark keeps on nagging. He wants me to come to Metropolis to have a look at his and Diana's work.” Tony stopped the fork in mid-air. “Seriously?” A single nod. “They are toying with the idea of a studio on their own as well.” Stark slipped a blueberry into his mouth and chewed. “Uh-huh.” For a while, neither of them said a word.

Eventually, Tony grasped for his cup of coffee and focused on the dissolving foam on his cappuccino.

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Considering?”

Bruce's mouth twisted as he shrugged. “I don't like owing people.” At that, Tony perked up. “Owing people? You're talking about bankrolling?” A shake of a head. “After I left Russia, I traveled to England and ended up running into Clark. He... saved me from foolish things.” Tony took a sharp breath. “... foolish? How... foolish?” Bruce once more shook his head, but with a determination in his eyes that dared Tony to dig deeper.

“It doesn't matter anymore.”  
His gaze found that of his anxious friend.  
“Fact is I'm here now, in New York, teaching ballet.”

The smile he tried for took a while until Tony mimicked it.

“Yeah.”

+

After breakfast, which had somehow exceeded into brunch, they meandered down 5th  Avenue. After a halfhearted attempt at window shopping, Tony eventually nudged his friend's arm. “I gotta swing by the academy before opening hours. Wanna come along, or do you have other plans?” Bruce shrugged.

“I don't.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

While Tony went to do some paperwork and check emails and schedules, Bruce busied himself raiding the fridge and throwing away his leftovers from the previous week. He then used the restrooms and walked into the large training room. Eventually, footsteps echoed from outside, and the door sprang open. “Hey, do you still remember the original choreography for our final presentation at Juilliard?”

Bruce's head shot up from where he was looking out of the panorama windows. At this height, people down on the street looked like ants scurrying around the sidewalks. After a few moments, the Gothamite then gave a cautious nod. “I... guess. Why?” Tony's fingers were ghosting over the screen of his phone. “Wanna try and find out?” Bruce's face filled with skepticism and refusal.

“We... _you_ shouldn't.”  
At that, Tony's eyes became hard and blazed with fire.  
“I just broke up with a man wanting to tie me down all the time, so don't go telling me what to do!”

He stalked over to connect the phone to the auxiliary cable and subsequently the audio system in the room. Sensing that arguing was a moot point, Bruce went into the motions of warming up. Since several parts of their original choreography demanded for them to be close, Tony went and joined him. They kept eye contact as they stretched against and with each other.

Wayne's thin lips were pressed into a firm line, and he looked like he was doing his best to keep his distance and his expressions in check. When Tony put a hand flat on his chest, however, he felt the rapid staccato of a heartbeat under his palm. Bruce exhaled with force and Tony's lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Ready?” A nod. The first tunes boomed through the room and they sprang into action, instantly in sync.

Bruce was just as graceful as Tony remembered him to be, but he also exuded a certain kind of raw, dangerous power which transfixed Tony from the first step. He went through the motions of his part on autopilot, gaze lingering on his dancing partner. Wayne caught his eye though he kept his poker face on. When it was time for the mandatory lift, Bruce reached out and swept him off his feet with strength and fluidity.

His grip was steady around Tony's waist, but when his fingers brushed against a bit of skin as Stark's t-shirt came loose, it caused Tony to all but blunder once his feet touched the ground again. In an instant, Bruce reached out and caught him. Tony leaned into the steadying hold, arms going up around Bruce’s neck until they stood chest to chest. “You okay?” Tony hummed. “Sorry, got distracted.”

Instead of letting go, Tony closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of Wayne's neck. That close, with Bruce’s body pressed against him, Tony felt the other man’s chest heaving against his. “Focus.” The chide was weak as Wayne fought for his voice to sound steadfast. It prompted Stark to withdraw and lock eyes with him. Bruce's were a dark swirl of repressed emotions, his shoulders tense.

His fingers flexed one more time around Tony's midriff before he took them away and exhaled. “From the beginning.” Before Bruce could break their proximity to put the song on replay, Tony reached up and brushed his knuckles along his cheek. “Sounds like a good idea.” He saw the shiver going through him and cupped his jaw with both palms, brushing his thumbs over a set of sharp cheekbones.

“You sure?”  
Bruce’s mumble was husky and low. Tony looked up at him through his lashes, eyes dark and lidded.  
“Very much.”

In a non-verbal confirmation he then leaned forward and tilted his chin up to capture Bruce's mouth. A soft moan escaped Wayne's throat before long fingers curled into Tony’s shirt and drew him closer. As Bruce's blunt nails dug into his back, one of Tony's hands slid down his side. It did not take long for Tony's thumb to slip beneath the elastic waistband of his sweatpants and caress the skin around his hip bone.

“Let's try again.” His words elicited a throaty questioning hum from the back of Bruce's throat. It made Tony smirk against his lips. “You and I. The way it's meant to be. But for now...” Stark kissed the tip of his nose as Bruce blinked at him looking like he tried to make sense of the words. “... just dance with me.”

After a little over three minutes, they knelt in the middle of the room, panting. Tony grinned. “Damn, we're good.” Bruce turned his head to look at him as he braced his hands upon the floor shortly after. “Are you alright?” Tony straightened back up and rubbed at his chest. “Better than before for sure.” His heart was beating fast and hard against his ribcage, but he willed a smile on his face.

Bruce, however, must have seen something was off at the way he wobbly got to his feet.  
“Tony?”  
His worried face was the last thing Tony saw before the ground rushed in to meet him halfway.

~

In a flash of sirens and bright light, Bruce ended up at the waiting zone of the Ronald O. Perelman Center for Emergency Services on First Avenue. He had no contact info on either Pepper or Rhodes, but it turned out he did not have to wait too long until one of the nurses beckoned him over into a double bedroom. An elder man was occupying the other bed, looking to be asleep amid a multitude of machines.

Tony was already back to being responsive, even if he looked drawn, pale and fragile inside the bed. Bruce leaned in to run his fingers through his hair. “I was so scared.” Tony attempted a smile that came out tired. “I'm like a cat. Nine lives.” Wayne's eyes glinted, but remained steadfast. “Stop throwing them away so easily.” Stark swallowed with difficulty and fought against the drooping of his eyelids. “Don't leave me.”

Bruce nodded, all the while caressing his bangs. “I have to ask if I can stay here. The nurse said since I am not a relative, I...” Tony gave a weak shake of the head. “Stay with me. By my side. In New York.” Bruce swallowed hard. “Tony, I...”

“I don't want to lose you to Metropolis. To Clark.”  
It came out as a whisper, and Bruce frowned at the amount of despair.  
“That is not what... how can you think that?”  
  
A wave of sadness rolled over Tony's strained features.  
“Once bitten, twice shy, y'know?”  
The kiss Bruce applied to his cold lips was a careful one.  
  
“I'm not going anywhere.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's and Bruce's choreography loosely based on these two talented dancers and their (sadly too short) demo on YouTube:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgtI3x8HnOM


	15. Chapter 15

After 12 hours of supervision, a doctor approached Tony with the offer for him to undergo a new genetic test by donating blood at NYU Langone Medical Center. Stark was quick to give his consent, and so, a few hours later, the doctors in question confirmed that he had the least risky of all causes of the disorder.

“You should respond well to medication. Come by for regular checkups nonetheless. Any episode most likely won't be deadly, although I advise you to never go swimming on your own again.” Glimpsing at the serious face in the back, Tony winked at Bruce. “I'm not planning on being on my own anytime soon.”

~

During Tony's ongoing period of recuperation, Bruce was the one to keep the academy up and running. Jarvis helped with bookkeeping and scheduling classes so that customers did not pick up on any bigger change apart from asking for Tony's whereabouts every once in a while. Wayne always responded with the same white lie he and Tony had agreed upon, which was a vacation paired with dancing workshops.

Bruce's new ballet class was small, but talented. There was Richard, whom everyone called Dick, a gifted acrobat who would become a splendid dancer due to his agility, Tim, who was not as good yet but tried all the more to get to Dick's level, and Jason, the oldest of the trio, who was also the most ruthless. Many times, Jason made Tim cry, and Bruce had to intervene and take the 11-year-old aside.

It all worked out smooth enough until Steve Rogers stood in the doorway of his old office one morning, glowering at the man sitting on what had been his side of the desk. Standing up, Bruce's eyes drilled into the blonde. “You have a lot of guts to come around here.” Steve's mouth curled into a derisive sneer. “Don't act like any of this belongs to you, Wayne. You don't get to take credit for the academy.”

Bruce walked around the table to come to stand in front of him, never breaking eye contact. “I should beat the living daylights out of you for what you've done to Tony.” Steve raised his chin and squared his shoulders. “Just try me, asshole.” Face twisted with anger and rage, Bruce threw himself at Steve, taking him by surprise. Rogers was quick to push back, and momentum sent them stumbling and slithering over the office desk.

Items like pens, folders and even the telephone flew down to the ground with clattering sounds as Steve's fists curled into Bruce's hooded jacket. Wayne managed to twist free of his grip and they hit the floor with a massive thud and rolled around, grappling for superiority. At some point, Steve had the upper hand and delivered a few punches before Bruce broke the hold he had with a jab to his kidneys.

Breathing hard, Wayne knelt atop Steve's elbows and pulled back his fist with gritted teeth. Just when he was ready to send it straight into the other man's face, he was yanked back by two strong arms. “What the fuck is going on here?” Enraged, Bruce's kept on struggling in James Rhodes' hold as he dragged him away from Steve's bleeding form. “I'm not finished with him!”

Eyes fixated on the blonde man who began to sit up, Bruce kept on raging in James's grip. Suddenly, there was Tony's startled face swimming into his line of view. “Bruce! Bruce, stop! What the hell?” Rogers was already back on his feet, blood running down his nose. “He's a goddamn psycho, that's what! Fuck!” Bruce felt the trickle of something warm on his chin and brushed the back of a hand over it.

It came away red and his eyes blazed up at the blonde across the room. “Get out. Get out you piece of shit before I forget myself.” The tendons in his neck stood out as he yelled at the other man, still straining in the hold Rhodes had on him. “Rhodey, can you?” Tony cast pleading eyes over to where Steve had stormed out of the office, palming his nose and leaving red splotches on crème-colored carpeting.

Once they were alone, Bruce took a few gulps of air and leaned back against the desk, fingering his mouth again with a hiss. Tony tilted his head up with a hand under his chin. “Really, B? Oh, boy.” Tony kept on mumbling those words over and over as he tiptoed around the overall mess of his office and got the first aid kit ready. “You and your effin' white-knight schtick.” Bruce tried to draw his head away but Tony was relentless.

“Should've let me kick out all of his fuckin perfect teeth.” The small white disinfectant cotton ball lowered. “... nope, I shall stand corrected. You and your effin' dark-knight schtick.” Hazel eyes glowered at him. “That's – ouch! Not it either. Meh. Leave me be.” Now Tony's grip on his chin became a bit softer. “Never.” He held out a nosebleed plug and Bruce snatched it with a glum expression. “You're supposed to be on vacation.”

It came out nasally. Stark rolled his eyes. “See, I just came back from 'vacation' to find my ex and my new lover wrestling it out in my office. Pardon me for not sending a postcard earlier.” At the nervous edge to his voice, Bruce fell silent and let him fuss around with putting all items back into the first aid kit. Once he was done, Tony snapped the little white box shut and put it aside.

“Seeing I can't work here for time being, I'm gonna be taking you out for lunch while keeping a close eye on you, Rocky.” No objections on Bruce's part made Tony nod to himself. “But first, I'll have a talk with Steve.” At that, Wayne bristled and pushed himself off the edge of the desk. “No!” A sturdy finger pointed into his direction. “Yes. And you are going to be a good boy and stay out of this.”

~

When Tony returned, Bruce had at least seen to putting things back up on their desk. The only traces now left of the previous fight were bloody spots on the carpet. Stark deliberately stepped over them. "We can tamper this down as an uncontested departure. Steve will collaborate and negotiate the terms for his departure with me and our lawyer." Wayne turned around. He had already taken out the nosebleed plugs.

"Meaning what?"

Tony walked over to where he stood by the window and examined his swollen, split bottom lip. "Meaning he is going to sign a separation agreement and we don't have to deal with legal expense or court costs." Bruce frowned. "Still I don't..." A held up finger made him stop. "Ah, ah, ah, be glad he's not going to sue you for assault." Wayne snorted. "Like I care." Tony gave a deep chuckle and poked his chest.

"But I care. About you. And my academy, of course, which needs a new partner who preferably isn't behind bars or paying heavy fines."

Bruce Wayne inhaled, held his breath, and slowly let it go through half-opened lips. 

"You really don't do things by halves, do you."  
  
Tony Stark grinned.

"Nope."

 

~EPILOG~

 

“How would you feel about a dancing event for charity?”

Bruce looked up from the computer as a to-go cup of his favorite coffee appeared in front of his nose. “What kind of charity?” Tony dropped into the office chair across from him and put the bag of bagels aside. “Steve and Sam want to open a branch office in Brooklyn.” A dark curtain fell across Wayne's face. “I'm not helping that prick.” Stark threw himself into his own swivel chair and sifted through the mail on his desk.

“It's been over six months. I made peace with 'that prick', and so should you, because it wasn't you who got cheated on, Bboy. Besides, if things hadn't turned out the way they did, we wouldn't be here now.” Tony slurped from his Starbucks cup and smirked at the skeptical face of his lover. “We should do it. Go out there, show them we still got it. Maybe call in Clark and Di and make this thing a big reunion kind of party."

No reaction. Tony crumpled the usual advertising letters into a tight little paper ball and disposed of it with a nimble throw into the trash can a few feet away. "Pepper would love to dance with Diana again, and Rhodey could call Carol.” Still unconvinced, Wayne crossed his arms in front of his chest and fixated him with a stern look. “What about your heart?” At that, Tony stood up and walked around the desk.

“I'm on medication, and my heart loves to dance."  
Tony gripped the armrests of Bruce's chair and leaned in until they were inches apart.  
"Including a tall, dark, and handsome guy from Gotham.”

  
The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life inspo behind Tony's condition courtesy of this story:  
> http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/OnCall/dancer-genetic-heart-condition/story?id=8804883
> 
> Should Bruce and Tony really do the charity thing, their performance could look like this:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FDvxzA3O8Q


End file.
